


A Dance and a Diversion

by cozywilde



Series: Nomikh Lavellan [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clothed Sex, Dancing, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28930326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozywilde/pseuds/cozywilde
Summary: Even after the conflicts of the Winter Palace have been resolved, Nomikh can’t seem to relax. Dorian helps.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Series: Nomikh Lavellan [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120148
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	A Dance and a Diversion

**Author's Note:**

> See [Nomikh’s Toyhouse profile](https://toyhou.se/7959085.nomikh-lavellan) for his appearance and history.

It should be relaxing, Nomikh thinks - at long last, the chance to be alone with Dorian, away from the prying eyes and gossiping tongues of the Orlesian court. Should be, with Dorian’s hands at his shoulder, his waist, as they turn to the muted sound of the music still playing inside. Should be, as Dorian smiles down at him, the soft, affectionate one he reserves for when they’re alone. 

It should be, but his nerves still thrum with all the restrained tension of an entire evening spent in this opulent vipers’ nest, harried from courtly exchanges of well-mannered barbs to furtive sleuthing in the shadows with barely a moment to pause for breath. 

“You’re so tense,” Dorian says, with a squeeze at his shoulder. Nomikh falters in the steps of their dance, and they draw to a halt. “You’ve done it, remember? The seemingly impossible task of uniting an empire on the verge of collapse? You’re owed just a _little_ guilt-free relaxation for that, I think.” 

Nomikh breathes in deep and lets it out on a gusty sigh. “Yes. Right. So I am.” 

“Mm _hmm,_ ” Dorian says, when Nomikh fails to look any less tense. “Something on your mind, then?” He slides his arms around Nomikh’s waist, drawing them closer together.

“No,” Nomikh says truthfully. “No more than usual, it’s just been - quite a long night. And I suppose I rather thought we’d end up having to fight our way out of it, much as I hoped otherwise.” 

“I never doubted,” Dorian says, and presses a light kiss to Nomikh’s cheek. He flushes and ducks his head, inordinately pleased even if Dorian might be stretching the truth a bit. “Is that why you’re so antsy, then? Perhaps you just need a different outlet.” He says it in a low, warm purr, with an accompanying tug at Nomikh’s waist, pressing them together, chest to chest. 

“Oh,” Nomikh gasps, and sets his hands at Dorian’s shoulders to steady himself. Strange, not to feel warm skin under his right hand, but no less tantalizing to feel the firm muscle under soft red velvet. It sets his nerves thrumming in a decidedly more appealing way. “Yes.” 

Just that word, an inviting tilt of his head, and Dorian kisses him, soft and lingering. Nomikh’s eyes fall shut; it’s good, it’s so good, but the pounding of his heart demands more. He deepens the kiss and Dorian makes a sound of surprise, but quickly matches him, hands rubbing firm against his back through the velvet. Nomikh hums into the kiss, pressing closer, hands coming up to run through Dorian’s hair. 

“You are destroying all of my careful grooming,” Dorian growls playfully. 

“I happen to like it this way,” Nomikh replies, smirking, only to gasp as Dorian ducks to the side, nipping at the tip of his ear. His knees go weak, and then it’s clutch at Dorian or fall as tongue and teeth tease at him. “Creators, Dorian,” Nomikh groans, and then he tugs Dorian back one step, two, until Nomikh’s back hits stone. 

That jars Dorian from his ear, and Nomikh’s quick to pull him back down to his mouth, teeth scraping over his bottom lip to provoke a low groan. Quicker then, a frenzied press of lips interrupted by gasps and moans as their hands wander. Dorian shifts, a thigh pressed in between Nomikh’s, and Nomikh groans, abruptly aware of how interested his cock is becoming. 

“Oh?” Dorian draws back just enough to meet his eyes as he rubs his thigh against Nomikh again, and Nomikh gasps, clutching at Dorian’s shoulders as his hips jerk against him. 

“Fuck me,” Nomikh breathes, and at that Dorian really does pull back, eyes wide. 

“I - really? Here?” he asks. His eyes flick to the doors to their little balcony, the party still ongoing beyond. 

Nomikh licks his lips, nods. “Yes. Please. I need it - need _you._ ” He noses under the line of Dorian’s jaw, sucking little kisses, laving the reddened skin with his tongue. He feels the shaky intake of Dorian’s breath under his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Dorian mutters, and then, “We don’t have any oil.”

“Do so,” Nomikh says, pulling away with a self-satisfied grin to pluck a vial from his jacket pocket and hold it up for Dorian’s inspection. “Any other objections?” 

Dorian laughs and shakes his head, taking the vial from him. “You minx, you planned this.” 

“Not exactly,” Nomikh says. “I thought, maybe if we found a guest room that was free… but please, I can’t wait that long.” He turns, glad for the gloves of the Inquisition’s uniform as he braces himself against the cold stone. 

“You really can’t, can you,” Dorian says, and when Nomikh looks over his shoulder, his eyes are dark, hot, as if he’s imagining every inch of skin under the uniform. He steps forward, hand sliding around Nomikh’s hip, under his jacket to squeeze at him through his trousers. 

“Fenedhis,” Nomikh hisses, hips bucking forward into Dorian’s hand. His fingers knead at Nomikh’s cock, rapidly hardening in these stupidly tight trousers. “Dorian, please…” 

“Yes, alright,” Dorian says, and he presses a quick kiss to the back of Nomikh’s neck before he tugs the trousers down over the curve of his ass. The night air washes cool over his skin, and he shivers - half-cold, half from the feeling of being so very exposed. Dorian’s hands quickly follow to chase away that chill, though; one pushing up the tail of his jacket and resting warm and steady on the small of his back, the other a moment later, slick fingers rubbing over his entrance. 

“Fuck, yes,” Nomikh gasps, and spreads his legs as much as he’s able, hobbled by the trousers tangled around his thighs. “Dorian -” 

“I’ve got you,” Dorian says, and slides a finger in, working him open with deft strokes of his hand. Quickly, but not quick enough for the restless heat burning through him that has him squirming back into every press of Dorian’s finger. 

_“Hurry,”_ Nomikh pleads. He steadies himself on one forearm, reaching down with the other to grip his cock. Loosely, just enough to take the edge off as he rocks between his hand and Dorian’s. Dorian swears, something filthy in Tevene judging by the low, appreciative tone to it. Another finger joins the first, and now Nomikh really feels the stretch, whining low in his throat and pressing his forehead against his arm. 

Dorian works at him until those two fingers slide easily, the sound of it wet, lewd. He readies a third, teasing at his rim, but Nomikh pushes back at him, impatient. 

“Enough, enough, that’s enough,” he says. 

“You’re sure you’re ready?” Dorian asks, slowly drawing his fingers out. 

“ _Yes!”_ Nomikh gasps. Creators, he feels so empty now, and he arches his back to offer himself in clear invitation. “ _Please,_ Dorian!” 

“Yes, fuck, just a moment,” Dorian says, and lets the back of Nomikh’s jacket fall back down over his ass as he yanks at his own trousers. Just enough to get his cock out, and then Nomikh hears the slick sound of skin on skin, the clink of the empty vial falling to the ground. His jacket’s jerked up again, balled up in Dorian’s hand at the small of his back. And then the head of Dorian’s cock presses against his hole, hotter than his fingers, so much thicker when it starts to sink in. 

Nomikh moans, and has to brace both hands on the wall again to stay standing. Even untouched his cock throbs, a match to the desperate pounding of his heart. 

“Alright?” Dorian asks, voice gone husky. “Maker, you’re tight -”

“Yes, yes,” Nomikh nods, and bites his lip on a whine. “More. Please.” 

Dorian sets a hand at Nomikh’s hip, and slowly works himself in. Short, careful rolls of his hips, tugging Nomikh back to meet each one, until his hips meet Nomikh’s ass, the press of that velvety jacket sending a jolt through him. What must they look like, still mostly-dressed in their finery, too impatient to fuck to even find a private room? 

The thought makes Nomikh moan, and he clenches around Dorian’s cock, feels Dorian’s shuddery gasp go through him. “Fuck me, Dorian, fuck me _now._ ” 

He braces himself just in time for Dorian to pull back, thrusting home again in one long stroke that pushes him up on tiptoes with a gasp. “Yes, yes, like that,” he manages, and then he doesn’t have the breath for words as Dorian starts to fuck him in earnest. Quick, hard thrusts that leave Nomikh gasping, lightheaded with the pleasure, the sheer relief at finally being so _full._

“Close?” Dorian asks, and lets go of Nomikh’s jacket to put a hand to Nomikh’s jaw, turning his head to kiss him, open-mouthed and messy. Nomikh moans wordlessly, nods. “Good,” Dorian says, with a quicksilver smile, and his other hand drops to fist Nomikh’s cock. 

Nomikh chokes on a wail, and Dorian quickly muffles it, two fingers slid neatly into his mouth. Nomikh gives a grateful, muffled moan, tongue curling around Dorian’s fingers, sucking lightly to hear him curse, hips jerking against him off-rhythm. He regains his rhythm in a moment, matching hard thrusts with quick strokes of Nomikh’s cock. Nomikh would be making such a racket without Dorian’s fingers between his lips; as it is, his muffled noises just pitch higher, higher, until he tenses, whines, cock spilling over Dorian’s hand. 

Dorian must follow him, sharp thrusts followed by a deep moan, then stillness, Dorian’s hips grinding against his ass. They both pant for breath - Dorian letting his spit-slick fingers slide from Nomikh’s mouth after a moment - and then Nomikh looks over his shoulder, meeting Dorian’s eyes, still blown dark with pleasure. It sends a thrill of warmth through him, and he starts to laugh, light and breathy. “Wow. We really just did that.” 

Dorian chuckles, and then winces as they’re jostled, oversensitive now where they’re still connected. He pulls out carefully, and then they both sag against the wall. “Any regrets?” Dorian asks, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe up the come streaking his hand. He offers it to Nomikh. 

“None,” Nomikh says, taking the handkerchief and giving Dorian the most contented smile he’s managed all night. Then he tugs at his rumpled uniform and grimaces. “Well. Maybe one regret for having to walk back through the ballroom like this.” 

Dorian laughs and plucks the handkerchief back, batting Nomikh’s hands away to wipe up the worst of the mess. “If there’s one thing I can do, I can make us look presentable after a tryst in a dark corner at a party,” he says, and true to his word, has them both put to rights in minutes. Trousers neatly fastened, jackets straightened - though he’s still fiddling with his hair, much to Nomikh’s amusement.

“How bad is it?” Dorian sighs. 

“I told you, I like it like this,” Nomikh says, and kisses him for the excuse to run his fingers through it again, to Dorian’s huff of outrage. 

“You’ll simply have to distract me, I think,” Dorian says morosely, though his eyes betray a glint of amusement. “Another dance, perhaps?” 

“Anything for the most handsome man at the ball,” Nomikh says with a flourishing bow, and this time when they slip into the steps of the dance, he thinks only of the man in his arms.


End file.
